The Guide to Grey Wardening: For Dummies
by BipedOmnivore88
Summary: Following Carver Hawke's contraction of the Blight in the Deep Roads, the Grey Wardens took him in to perform The Joining. Carver has his own stories to tell of when he escaped the shadow of his elder brother to make a name for himself among the Wardens. (includes various characters,Carver's POV, rated M for language and violence)
1. Chapter 1

"Now _this_ looks familiar," My elder brother remarked when finally, after weeks of sleeping in their armor and fighting off the blighted creatures of the underground caverns Thedas called the Deep Roads, we found ground we had already walked on before Bartrand Tethras had left the four of us for dead. In our company, there was Bartrand's younger brother, Varric, who would probably bear more resemblance to his older brother if he did not insist on shaving his beard, and yet another bloody apostate aside from Elijah, named Anders. Well, him being a Grey Warden makes him good for _something,_ I suppose.

The Dwarf and Elijah have been merciless with terrible puns on our 'adventures' in the Deep Roads only in attempts to ease the tension from the possibility that we might be exploring our tomb. I know this because it's in Elijah's nature to turn everything into a joke, but even more so to just let others hear his voice. The Warden and I, Anders, appreciate it little, making it the one thing we truly agree on. Otherwise I wouldn't associate myself with that tit.

My brother's energy to laugh, however, had probably gone away upon waking at whatever hour it was that we had gotten moving, and he held his tongue, especially when he heard me speak… the darkspawn we met before sleeping, it wasn't good. I remember meeting Aveline and her Templar only a little over a year ago, Wesley, I think his name was. He said he knew the moment it had happened, when he got the taint.

So did I. The blood burned. I burn, inside. It hurts, I can feel every movement, when my stomach rumbles, when my lungs work to breathe and when my heart beats. It's like when the grease from meats in the frying pan pops and little drops of it land on your skin, only the feeling gets inside and it never cools off. It makes my stomach churn, though what I had to eat probably doesn't help a damn bit.

"Can we take a break?" I asked as another wave of nausea made me sweat and shiver, "I feel… wrong."

Elijah did not turn to look at me, and instead, scratched his messy beard as he further observed the roads ahead of them. This had been the road on which we had originally made camp, and was about a day or two's trip to the surface. Fresh air would be a blessing, and I knew he didn't necessarily want to stop, but he nodded anyway and said, "Let's make camp, if you're sick." That didn't give me as much relief as I had hoped it would.

Varric snorted, running a hand through the blond hair that had become greasy for lack of opportunity to wash, "I'll wager it was those deep mushrooms that we found. You'll probably feel better if you toss them back to the Deep Roads, heh."

"No it's-," I breathed hard, feeling as though the air was being pushed from my lungs, and what precious little I could gain was to be valued. My head became light and my limbs heavy, but by this time the burning inside had made me so numb I could scarce feel my knees hit the floor, or feel the stone against my hip when I fell. I could barely feel my brother's hands on my shoulders when he tried picking me up.

"Carver!"

"It's the blight," The Warden said as he and the Dwarf stood over me, my brother kneeling at my side, "I can sense it."

"Just like that Templar," I wheezed, "I'll be just as dead—just as gone."

"No, I'm not going to let that happen!" My brother's voice was strong, and I looked up at him to see the face we shared, thick brows furrowed, and… blue eyes watering a little. He blinked it away, of course, and probably swallowed it. Since we started growing from boys to men, we never shed any tears, and so to see him straining against them nearly shocked me to my feet. I kept quiet and gripped my stomach, which was churning viciously.

"I'm not going to make it. Not to the surface, not anywhere," I could feel the effort it took to try and push Elijah away, but he stayed put, and I added with more panic than I would like, "It's getting worse."

"There might be something we can do," Anders said quickly, "I stole the maps from a Grey Warden that had come to Kirkwall… I wanted to know if he was looking for me. He wasn't, the maps were for their own expedition into the Deep Roads."

"Does that mean the Wardens are here?"

"If the Wardens are here, I know where. We could bring Carver to them."

"And what?" I asked, "Become a Grey Warden?" What good would any of that do, I wonder? I hadn't any energy to ask, and after exchanging glances with my brother, he must have picked up on this, and asked for me.

"Is becoming a Grey Warden some kind of cure?"

The other mage shrugged rather hesitantly and affirmed this, but the blasted wanker added something rather discouraging, probably thinking he was doing me some sort of favor. In this moment, anything to stop the pain racing through my body would have been enough. Make me a Grey Warden, slit my throat, or chop off my head. Anything to make it stop.

"There's a price?" things were getting more tense by the minute, "What price? Maker's breath, spit it out!"

"The process of becoming a Warden is… unpleasant," he explained, "And irreversible. It also means you might never see your brother again."

I didn't know how the latter was a setback for myself, but as for unpleasant, I also couldn't see how anything was worse than having fire replace your blood. I prayed to the Maker that they would make a bloody fucking decision before it became too much to bear.

"And being a Grey Warden, it isn't an easy life. Trust me."

"How do you even become a Grey Warden?"

"I can't tell you. And it's not something you can reverse once it's done, even if you wanted to. I left the Wardens, but I never got away. Eventually they or the Circle will drag me back. It's not something you can ever run away from."

"Well," I added, "This just keeps sounding _better_ the more you two go on. Make a bloody decision before I die, Maker have mercy."

Elijah had a hand on my shoulder, and it tightened a little, or I thought it did and he told me, "If there's a chance, we have to try."

I inhaled deeply and prepared myself for the walk we would have to take, as Elijah and the Warden helped me to my feet.

"I think they're here," Anders said after about an hour's worth of searching, or so I was told. Time seemed to go by rather slowly by then, and I had vomited more times than I cared to count on the way there.

The snarling told us otherwise, and the three of them that weren't sick jumped to action, and I sluggishly drew my sword. Anders and Elijah threw spells at the darkspawn suddenly flooding the corridor with a fury I hadn't ever noticed before. Father and I had taught us both to use blades, but Elijah never was so enthusiastic to bloody some steel as I was, and I was proud of myself for being good at it, but no matter how I did with a blade, Father was always quicker to praise Elijah and Bethany for work well done with a staff.

This was likely going to be the end of me. Elijah would bring my body home to Mother when this was done. How perfectly _fitting_ that the one thing I shadowed him in would fail me, that I would go out with a whimper as my brother fought to keep me alive. How fitting that he would fail in saving me, but to everyone but Mother, a light would be shined on him, the mourning brother who failed to protect his sick brother. How. Bloody. Fitting.

One of the Genlock buggers took my weakness as an advantage, sniffing me out and retreating from the rest of the crowd that was rolling about in flames, shrieking and slashing, to attack me. It took all my strength to block its powerful swing, and to skewer it on my heavy blade, twisting the damned thing to make it the killing blow.

The fight was done when Anders sent flame through the last darkspawn skull. When the smoke had cleared and the dust from disturbed stone had settled, a man with hair as black as mine and my brothers, with a mustache thicker than any I'd ever seen before stepped into view, clad in heavy armor—the leather a dark blue with perhaps silver plating. The thing that stood out to me the most about this shiny new person was the griffon carved into his chest plate. There were two others dressed like him, but he seemed to be the senior by the way he took charge of the situation.

"Anders." He said in a heavy Orlesian accent, laying eyes on the Warden.

"Fancy meeting you here, Stroud," The mage said as my brother came to help me over as I grew weak in the knees once more.

"I could say the same of you. I thought you were through fighting darkspawn."

"That isn't what I'm here for. Actually, I came looking for you," My brother and I stumbled, and briefly, I made contact with the new Warden, Stroud, only to look away. My skin was paler than it had ever been, pasty, with the dark veins showing through it. I disgusted myself, but above all, I felt as weak as I probably looked. I could think of nothing worse to appear as in front of Grey Wardens, rumored to be tactical experts and warriors of great skill. My sweat chilled my skin, but my face burned and struggled to show more color than pasty white.

"You mean the boy? As a recruit?" He sounded a little surprised, and paused for a brief moment, shaking his head, "No, of course you do." Here, Stroud turned and addressed my brother and I, adding only to the kind endorsements of the Wardens that I had heard before. "I am sorry. I know this comes as no comfort to you, but we do not recruit Wardens out of pity. It is not a kindness."

Elijah snorted, and immediately I knew the Maker had blessed me because his mood was far from playful, "You think it's _kinder_ to just let my brother die from the blight?"

"Sometimes, yes. Very much so."

Anders and Elijah argued in my defense, with bitter praise I knew I would only hear if I were dead or dying. I was worth their time to consider me for recruitment.

"It's a waste not to consider him," Anders finally added in, "He'll die anyway if you don't take him, and if you do there's a chance he may yet live. Please, Stroud, take him and try. I'm asking you."

The man exhaled and rustled his thick mustache ever so slightly.

"If the boy comes, he comes now, and you may never see your brother again. Becoming a Grey Warden is not a cure," He pressed, making eye contact with me, only wearing the gravest of expressions, "It is a calling."

I lifted my head, trying to stand as best I could and exchanged glances with my brother.

"Are you sure about this, Elijah?" As much as I hated living in his shadow, he did know what he was doing.

"I wish there was another way, but it seems this is your only chance," I felt the arm that wasn't around my brother's shoulder as he was helping me stand lift up. Stroud was on my other side, ready to take me from the life I knew.

"We are to move quickly if we are to make it to the surface in time."

"Then," I started, feeling a lump in my own throat that I quickly swallowed, "I guess this is it. Take care of Mother."

My last look at his face seemed to last me a lifetime, and I knew it was nothing I would forget any time soon. For the first time since we had arrived in Kirkwall, I noticed things in his face that had changed, and should I have ever used a looking glass on myself to compare, I would think we weren't related at all, though he would seem very familiar.

There was a crease between his eyebrows that was deep now, but even when he was in a good mood it never went away anymore. It was always there, just not always so profound. Though there was precious little light in these caverns, I could still make out the dark under his eyes, and if he shaved the scraggly mess off his face, I might have found the corners only turning down until he was prompted to cut in somewhere with a witty remark.

Elijah looked older than twenty-three, but right for his age at the same time, and I wondered if I had gone on about "his bloody templars" too many times, or if he was just working harder than usual. What might help me sleep at night, is if it turned out that we Hawke's just aged badly. In that case, Bethany might be considering herself lucky up there with the Maker, because she resembled Father the most whom I remember had graying hair long before Mother's started to change. I had always thought it was because he had much to worry about.

We turned away from my brother, whose eyes I could feel on me until we were far off, and the Grey Wardens took great care to help me walk as fast as possible. The Caverns which they had come through were free of Darkspawn, and it took less than the time my brother had guessed would take us to reach the surface. Either that, or I must have blank spots of our trip there. I do remember, however, one instance where Stroud had insisted I help him and the two Wardens he was traveling with to kill a lone darkspawn. I did as much as I could, and was helped along to deliver the killing blow like I was still a boy. I wished that they would just kill me rather than push me along like an urchin, but I kept quiet and did as I was told, right down to filling up a vial with the beast's blood when it was done. I hadn't the energy to be curious enough to ask, and we made it to the surface in relative silence. By this time, I had nothing left to throw up and settled for dry heaving when I became nauseous. The Wardens looked on with pity, making my ears burn hotter than the fire my heart pumped through my body, but never voiced their condolences or really did much else than help me walk and kill the darkspawn. I know Elijah wouldn't have such discretion.

It was good to breathe in fresh air when we got to the surface, and I found it easier to breathe with the sky above me and enormous pines surrounding the small dirt path we took, about a half mile to the camp. The sky was grey, about to face the sunrise. Dawn. It was good to see dawn.

We arrived at a small gathering of six tents in a clearing that was only a small ways off the path, with a fire in the middle. There were two other Wardens present, both looking puzzled at me until I came into the light of their fire. Then their expressions changed to understanding and matched the sorry looks I got from the three that escorted me there.

"Sit here," Stroud said as he eased me into a seated position on a log, "I won't be long."

There was only one woman among the Wardens I had seen so far, a city elf (or so I assume) with white-blonde hair cut short and shaggy, and dark green eyes. The plates of her heavy armor sat beside her on the log, next to a leather satchel which she dug into for a burlap pouch. She loosed the strings that kept it tied shut and handed it to me.

"Eat this, Shem. The sick won't be no better if you let yourself starve."

"I can't keep anything down, don't waste it," I told her, probably coming off as a little bitter when I said it, but I was feeling too sorry for myself at this time to care.

"Do as she says, boy," an older man with graying hair and an Orlesian accent, not Stroud told me. I recognized him as one of the Wardens that had helped me to the surface, "Some rice bread would help to settle that stomach. Better for before The Joining anyway. A settled stomach helps it go down."

Reluctantly, I grabbed the bag and dug inside to find some rice bread, tasting a little stale, but I chewed on it anyway, feeling a little better. A small skin sloshing full of something was tossed to me next, and I opened it, eager to wet my throat, which was drier than I ever remembered it being. The water felt like the Maker's blessing going down.

I handed the elf her emptied pouch and closed the water skin, leaving it on the log beside me as I buried my face in my hands.

I had endured the burning for so long that the rest of me had felt numb. My arms and legs were gelatin, my stomach an aching vessel that turned over with every breath my lungs could manage. I thought for certain that I might be joining Father and Bethany soon when a large hand clapped down on my shoulder and jostled my upper body. It was Stroud.

"It's time. We must hurry."

The Wardens all gathered, standing around the fire. They were all there, all seven—two faces I hadn't seen until now, and a Mabari hound like my brother's woke, and perked up its ears to watch.

"Join us, brothers and sisters," one of the new faces, a blond-haired man with a Ferelden accent like my own who seemed only a handful of years older than myself started in a monotonous tone, walking forward with a formal looking silver cup, like a goblet with no intricate design—I supposed this was something that was important to carry on them for this ritual. He stopped a short distance away from me, looking me straight in the eye as he continued his chant, "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we will join you."

Silence fell except for the crackling of the fire, and I was aware of all eyes on me. Weak knees, cold sweat, and nausea mixed with all this—it was like nothing I ever experienced. It was all like something that could happen in that Dwarf's silly books.

"Carver Hawke, step forward."

I did, and the cup was held out to me. Only when it was taken into my hands did I smell what was in it, and I wrinkled my nose. Darkspawn blood? Of all the pissing things I could put in my mouth, it had to be more taint. If it stopped this pain, it was worth the risk. I drank it, and it was like drinking from the lava rivers of the Dwarven cities. The numbness went away and the burning became hotter, more intense, and in an instant, I was blinded.

Only I didn't stop seeing. There were more of the blighted things, darkspawn. Hordes of them, stampeding through the caverns, and a feeling rose for me to identify it. What was that? Desperation—that was the only way I could describe it. Desperation to _find_ something. The leader. Where was the God to lead the armies? Without one we are nothing. Mindless. Nothing to tie our minds together for good, no purpose.

I woke, as if from a long sleep, with the tarp ceiling of a tent hanging over me. I was laying in a bedroll that was lain out on top of yet another tarp, all on top of soft soil and lust grass. It was a step above Uncle Gamlen's house, that's for sure.

It took me a moment to realize that there was a slightly familiar woman sitting cross-legged beside me. Yes, she was there, with the fire and the chanting man, but—no, there was something else. Her hair was the color of dark cocoa (understand I haven't had anything to eat but deep mushrooms and bread for the last three days), long and woven into two braids, and by the way a few strands refused to smooth into place, I could tell it was quite curly, and even curled into near-perfect rings where she tied them off at the ends. Her skin was fair and her eyes a silvery color. No, that was as generic as anything, I could see that anywhere. Her face was round, her cheeks full—there was some youth in her, but she was older than I. Maybe Elijah's age. Twenty-Four. That was as good a guess as any.

I stared at her face for a long time, and she stared back, looking a little amused. Her nose was small with a classic, straight slope, like mother's. She had a small mouth, with thick, pink lips— she was beautiful, yes, but as soon as I had associated her nose with Mother's, I couldn't stop seeing it. My chest ached a little, partly from how I was recovering, and partly from how I missed her.

"Good morning," the woman finally said, breaking the silence I'd made between us. She was as Ferelden as the man I'd taken the blood-cup from before I woke, "You had us worried for a while, but I was certain you would make it. Welcome aboard."

I tried to sit up, but my head pounded as soon as I tried to exert myself, and I groaned, "Pissing head of mine!" I held a hand to my forehead, "My bloody fucking skull's about to rip open."

"Watch yer mouth, lad, there's old ears in this camp," she told me with a smile. She picked my hand up by the wrist and replaced it on my forehead with her own. Through my eyelashes of my half-closed lids I could see her hand glow. She was another mage. Never thought I'd miss Elijah. Glad to see I don't so far.

In the presence of another Fereldener, I started to speak like back home in old Lothering while amongst my friends and not quite as eloquently as Mother and Father preferred, "If they're old ears, then them ears is shit, innit? Surely they'll understand anyhow, I'm in bleeding pain here."

The woman chuckled, and took her hand off of my head. It felt as though she'd let some of the pressure on my brain loose, and relief made me relax.

"Not to worry," she said, "None would hold a grudge for a sick boy. You seen through more suffering in your own Joining than most us did. Lucky to be alive, you are."

I snorted, "Yes. So _lucky_. I had the worst dream of my life and feel like I drank a Qunari's worth of ale."

"Well, the headaches I can tell you, will go away. The dreams will take a while. Although, you shoulda seen 'em during the Blight. Didna get much sleep those days."

"I'm sure they were all perfectly shite then, too." I tried sitting up again, and found it was less painless than before. Finally I was able to prop myself up on my elbows and observe her almost level to myself. She wore Grey Warden-issue robes for a mage, which were protective as well. They had the metal scales, but none of the plating, and were crafted with thick leather that wouldn't cut quite easily, as were her boots. Black and blue seemed to be the colors the Wardens chose for themselves, and their armor looked better than anything Elijah and I salvaged from the Lowtown markets. Her staff was a long branch lain down behind her in the small tent, with a leather grip and a sharp looking blade of a dagger on one end, and some kind of totem crafted from a lump of some kind of geode on the other, with various baubles and leather straps and such to keep it tied on. Her casual air about being a mage made me think that maybe it should have been Elijah to get the taint. He'd be better off as a Warden than an apostate.

"Right," I said when she didn't answer, "I'm Carver Hawke."

"It's good to meet you, Carver. I'm Warden-Commander Amell. But you can call me Janet until we're in more formal company."

"Amell?"

"Janet Amell. Anyhow, my fellow Fereldener. How would you like to go back to back home?"

"To Lothering?"

"Back to Ferelden. Lothering's gone, last I saw it, but in time the land might be salvageable. How soon that will be, I cannot say it'll be in either of our lifetimes."

"Ferelden? Yes. Take me away from the pissing Free-Marches," I said, but searched my head for something I heard before, from mother. I asked before she could leave, "Have you happened to know anyone named Revka?"

"Revka? It sounds familiar," She furrowed her brow and thought, "I spent my life since I was six in the Circle, up until I was recruited. Revka. Yes, that was my mother's name. I cannot say I remember much of her. She was the one that gave me to the Templars so I don't know if that's a good or bad thing. Why do you ask, do you know her?"

I smiled for the first time since Bartrand locked us in the Deep Roads, and nodded, "Not personally. She's my mother's cousin."

Janet looked shocked for a moment, but a smile quickly made it back to her face. "Cousin?" She asked, "I like the sound of that. Cousin. I've never met any blood relation since being taken, it's odd, don't you think?"

"A little, that we should meet, my sister would have said it were destiny, Maker rest her soul."

"Poor cousin," I looked up as she readied herself to leave the tent, and saw a somewhat sad expression, "I'll have to make a point to keep you around Amaranthine for a while. It's hard not having family, but… I think you'll make your place with the Wardens. Maybe the Deep Roads will feel like home."

"Right. No offense, but I'd like to get to this Grey Wardening piss as soon as possible. No use in putting it off if I need to do it later, yeah?"

"'Grey Wardening.'" She sounded a little amused, "Oh, I think I'll like you, Carver."


	2. Chapter 2

**(Sorry about the long wait, I was otherwise indisposed and couldn't write)**

I was allowed two days to recover, and I needed them, but only allowed two days as that was how much time we had to make it to a boat that would take us across the Waking Sea to Amaranthine. I'd heard Anders speak of it before when my brother and I joined him and Varric in the tavern, but I admit I never paid much attention to him. If he ever added anything relevant to a conversation at the Wicked Grace table, it was always followed by some remark about kittens, or Maker forbid we go half an hour without hearing of the mages plight.

I usually drowned him out, and occupied myself with teaching Merrill how to play, and how to bluff. She was better than Anders, maybe, but it would be a long time until I wouldn't feel guilty betting anything against her. Or… It would if I were there. I wish I would have tried harder to keep her attention, and not let my brother steal it away from me.

I watched these past couple of days when the senior Wardens would have time to themselves—they played the same games we all did at the Hanged Man, had similar conversations, and at one point, a man from the ass-end of Starkhaven with a peculiar accent and a name that no one could pronounce right (they called him Warden Mac) got bleeding drunk, singing tavern songs, which the others joined in with.

The trip wasn't all the intrigue of the quirks a rag-tag band of warriors in it until death had, however. I was given a special amulet containing a bit of the blood that was in the silver cup, stored safely in a vial, and then the talk began. Stroud sat me down and explained that Wardens would always have dreams of the Darkspawn, but in time after my Joining they would be fewer in number than they are now. I'd barely been able to sleep since I woke and met Janet, so I was relieved to hear this. I only wished I wouldn't have to sleep on a boat any time soon again.

He hadn't been done, yet. I never imagined myself growing old and grey. It's just nothing I ever thought about before. I saw my mother age, and father was worse for wear when he got sick, but otherwise aging never concerned me, not until I saw my brother's face. I was told I wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Eventually the taint will become too much for me to bear, and the nightmares will return, worse, more vivid. The Calling is what tells a Warden he is succumbing to the darkspawn blood he partook in, and most of them venture into the Deep Roads again to die in battle rather than wait to become a mindless ghoul. Others ended it personally, or if there was someone they were close with, they might be persuaded to end it for them.

Bottom line I got for it was that I would die, likely not with all the color faded from my hair, and with few lines in my face, but my death would be my own. It was something to think about on the way to the Warden fortress across the sea, where I would be getting a somewhat 'official' welcome. I'd get armor, and eventually I'll get an assignment for post-Blight cleanup like everyone else was doing, or maybe I'll be sent to help map the Deep Roads.

Their expedition in the Deep Roads had been cut short on account of me, but I was told that Stroud, Amell, and the man that had done my joining ritual, Alistair, were a group of most determined leaders and covered more ground than they expected to in the time they did have underground, allowing for them to cut their trip a little short and return to Amaranthine. I found myself a little interested, despite my earlier claims to my brother that I was not, in finding a little more out about my Amell relatives. Or just the one. Janet was the Hero of Ferelden, and not some snotty noble bitch that pissed wine and shat royals—I was weary of her having been raised in the Circle, but I've never heard a word from her concerning how oppressed the poor mages were. She hardly spoke of magic at all, actually, it seemed to interest her little as a topic of conversation.

"I've heard the stories," I told her as we sat across from one another on the deck of the ship, seated on benches. It was noon in the dead of winter, and all the others were chattering, sleeping, or offering help to the sailors. Alistair had joined us, though, and the fairytale gossip about the two Wardens being lovers of a kind turned out to be truer than I thought. It was strange; he used to be a Templar. I thought they hated magic.

"What kind of stories would those be?" Janet asked, handing me a blanket as the wind blew. The three of us would have gone below deck if it wasn't stuffy, hot, and smelly. I felt green enough as it was.

"Oh," Alistair grinned, "Did you hear the one about how we kidnapped a Chasind witch and forced her to combine her and Jenny's powerful blood magics to banish the Archdemon to the Fade and stop the Blight? I've heard a couple of radical Grand Clerics shouting that one, lucky us that no one believes them."

"I haven't heard that one," I said, racking my brain for the others I've heard only to find I remembered best the ones told my drunks in the Hanged Man, "I heard the one how you lured an ogre into a trap and tamed it, using it to kill the Archdemon."

"Good story, but it turns out we're just extremely lucky," Janet—or Jenny, shrugged, "I'd never thought of taming the ogres. I don't think it's at all possible. And you would have to lay a very big, very elaborate trap."

"Maybe. The first ogre I killed was rather easy," I told them, thinking about how we fled after Ostagar.

"You've killed an ogre before?" Alistair looked rather curious, and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

"I have… We were fleeing Lothering, our home, me, my brother Elijah, and my sister Bethany. Mother was there too, of course. Elijah was in the lead, and we followed him, only it turned out we had gotten turned around by all the Darkspawn, and were heading further into the Korcari Wilds, close to Ostagar," The two of them seemed rather intrigued by the beginning of my story, and both were leaning forward. The elf woman that had given me bread, her name was Hafren, and Mac also seemed to be listening in, "We eventually met a Templar, Wesley, and his wife Aveline. Wesley tried to arrest my brother and sister for being mages, but Elijah wasn't going to let that happen. I never really got a chance to step in for them, so it wouldn't matter if I tried to keep him away or not. Aveline convinced him not to and so we all joined up together and decided to go north."

I told the story of how we traveled together only for a short time before we met the bigger darkspawn. There was one that could cast spells, others snapped at and tried to bite while swinging swords and axes about the air. Elijah and Bethany threw their spells in defense of the six of us, as Aveline and I raised our swords to the sky, charging at the beasts. I felled a great one, my blade reluctantly, but cleanly sliding out of its gullet. There was barely a spot of the black, corroding blood on my steel.

When the last darkspawn of this group fell, naturally I looked to Elijah. "We haven't much time," he said, "We have to hurry before more of them arrive here. These won't be the last!" Not that the rest of us didn't know that, but mother seemed to run faster at this.

We ran up a hill, heading south at Elijah's insistence when the ground seemed to shake at our feet. Elijah grabbed my arm—he didn't have my muscle tone, but he certainly had a strength I wouldn't credit to any other mage—and pulled me closer to him, straight out of the path of the charging ogre that would have impaled me on its horns. When its prey was taken from its reach, it slowed, and turned its glare towards mother, who we were separated from, the great beast providing a terrible barrier.

"Maker have mercy," My twin sister said, narrowing her dark eyes at the beast as she stepped between it and mother. I knew it turned its hateful gaze on her, and I thought surely Bethany would assume the same cowering position our mother did behind her, but she stood her ground and threw a ball of arcane fire at it. The stench of its burnt skin disgusted me, made my stomach churn, but nothing was more sickening than the sound of my poor sister's spine snapping in two, or the sound of her choking on her own blood, gurgling and whimpering before falling silent, only I wasn't allowed to see the light go out. Brother and I immediately turned our attention to her murderer, crying out in a rage until it lay dead on the ground.

I stopped there, looking up at Janet and Alistair, the latter of which was slack-jawed, and I pressed my lips together, a tight lump in my throat. It's been a year, two years since I talked about Bethany at length. I never let mother speak to me about her. I never let Elijah put his arm around me, like we used to when we weren't old enough for hair on our chests, _especially_ if we were talking about Bethany.

"You miss her."

I looked up at Janet, staring into her steel-grey eyes, and covered my eyes with one hand. I very much did miss Bethany. We didn't get along as well as our parents would have liked. Father had put his belt to my hide more times than I could count for nailing her braid to the bed while she was asleep. But when I see the look in Elijah's eyes when he holds mother close whenever I hear my sister's name, I want to vomit. I'd do it over and take her place if I could, because mother and Elijah couldn't forget sweet Bethany, but they would forget me.

"Wardens are no strangers to loss," Janet said, "Surely you heard what had happened at Ostagar. That day, as Fereldeners, Alistair and I lost our King, as did you. Not only that, but we lost our entire order. Later, I was allowed to return to the circle to find it in disarray, the people I considered family betraying one another or dying, and a dear friend of mine resigned to loathe all mages for what the traitors had done to him," I could see she noticed my puzzled look and she cut herself off, "The point I'm trying to make is that you're a Warden. We understand your loss and you need not ever be ashamed of feeling it. We all feel it."

It was dead silent save for the sounds of the sea as I watched the two across from me. Alistair wrapped his larger hand around hers, and they drew their blanket closer around them, huddling together, her head on his shoulder. He'd done away with the large plated armor, so I couldn't imagine it was so uncomfortable

"No offense," I finally started, "but if we're all going to die, probably young and disappointed, I don't see what the point of mourning is. Nor do I see the point of having something to lose. Don't you two wish you were normal? That you could sing a wedding song in the blighted Chantry? Or have children?"

Janet's brows furrowed, and she looked at her palms. I had a bad feeling that I might be regretting even asking—not that it was very tactful or kind, the way I put it.

"We have one," she said.

That was news I hadn't expected. My jaw dropped for a second, but I quickly shut my mouth.

"We thought Grey Wardens couldn't have children. Or, well, it's true," Jenny shrugged and continued to look enthralled with her hands. I watched as Alistair's gaze was downcast as well, "A year and six months made me a fairly new Warden. I suppose that had something to do with it. But Temperance was born sickly, and we cannot take care of her as Wardens."

Alistair lifted up his head, "We gave her to the Arl of Redcliffe. We'd done him a service before the Landsmeet, and he insisted. She's in good hands, and we get letters. She's not so sick anymore, but we worry."

"I—I'm sorry. I had no idea," I said, suddenly feeling very out of my element. Usually with Elijah we dealt with blood mages or Templars, or some Marcher in Dark Town looking to exploit us dog lord refugees. Sympathy was not a strong point of mine, and I began to regret some of the things I said or neglected to say to Father or Bethany when they were alive, and especially to Mother before we had left for the Deep Roads. All that remained for me were my slim chances of getting to send her a letter now and then, and even slimmer ones that I would ever see her again.

The couple shook their heads and Janet seemed to quickly regain composure. Alistair seemed content to hold a tearless kicked puppy expression on his face, but Janet tried for a smile. As fake as it was, it was a good effort.

"It's better that you know now, before you set yourself up for disappointment later on," She told me.

The ride to the Ferelden coast lasted us four days—it would have been three if the winds hadn't been lazy. I spent much of the time I had until reaching Amaranthine getting to know my cousin, and I found that she was so much more than just the Hero of Ferelden. Jenny was sincere, and had a sense of humor, but in more serious situations, kept her lips sealed and never tried to make light of something that didn't need it. She reminded me of Aveline, though less hot-headed and grave. She was utterly unlike Elijah in this, while Alistair was somewhat more similar to my brother than I would have liked, and yet, he was also different. There was a maturity to the two of them that Elijah lacked, and it was refreshing to speak to an adult that didn't try to coddle or talk down to me like the ones I knew.

Upon further question, I learned she and Alistair were closer to my age than I had thought. Alistair was a former Templar-in-training nearing his twentieth when the Blight started, and Jenny being an eighteen-year-old apprentice gone through her Harrowing when she was recruited. The Blight was over in a year, and it had taken my brother and I just a little over that to work off the debts we owed to an Elven woman that would get us into Kirkwall. Then there was all that business with the Architect we heard of from Anders, and here we were. I could scarcely believe a woman nearing only two and twenty could have done all that.

I observed them closely sometimes when they weren't looking and thought that they must be having me on about their ages. They looked older, almost worn. With a shake of my head, I put that thought out of my mind. One of the other Wardens I had come to know, Mac, was at least thirty, and had an alcohol tolerance to better fit the part. There was the stench of hard liquor always on his breath and I could hardly understand half the shite he spat out of his mouth, but it was to my understanding that he was one of the most graceful, skilled warriors of the Wardens that Warden Stroud, Janet, and Alistair had met. I trusted these senior wardens on this and accepted it as fact. My point being was that Mac had probably seen all sorts of horrors on his own, and should probably have drunk himself into his grave, but he's a lively sort.

When our ship docked in Amaranthine, the Senior-most Wardens filed off the ship with a clear purpose in their step, Janet standing up straight and ready to give orders.

"Mac and Hafren," The Marcher and the Elven woman that had given me bread earlier, the one with a white-blonde bob that framed her high cheekbones rather nicely and a set of very dark eyes, stood at attention, "See to it that Carver is situated with the essentials, find him a bed he can fall into, and then go about your business. The rest of the day is yours."

They nodded, and I felt Mac's large hand clamp down on my shoulder. It was a tight grip, one that you could expect from such a man. He was over six feet, probably boasting the size of a stunted Qunari, and wielded a heavy looking longsword and a shield, which he carried on his back. The sword looked nicely balanced, but I had been asked to hold it at one point as he moved things around on the boat and I found it was rather heavier than any longsword I'd ever held. He was strong, and it even showed in his face. Underneath auburn stubble and a mop of frizzy curls the same color, I could see he had a square jaw and chin. His nose was a classic slope, plain and simple, but the nostrils were a little wide and flared at times. His eyes were deep-set and a sharp green, with a strong, flexible brow he expertly moved to express himself.

"Aye, the lass and I will get the boy fixed up," He clapped me on my shoulder once more as we headed towards the entrance to a stone building. It was to my understanding that Amaranthine was a fine place for a Warden, but not nearly as grand as Weisshaupt, up in the Anderfels. The Grey Warden Anders had once mentioned during a night of cards that he was originally from there—that was all I remembered however because what came after it was something bashing the Circle of Magi, the Chantry, and the Templars yet _again._ I wondered for a moment if he'd become a warden just because one day he would get to go home, but I brushed this off again as well. It was to my understanding that my life was over, and I decided it best if I tried to think as little of Kirkwall as possible. Besides, here in Ferelden I might be able to revisit Lothering, but I wondered just how good of an idea that might be. On one hand, it was home. On the other, I might not want to see what the bloody darkspawn had done to it.

"Take yer pick of a weapon, Wee Lad," Mac told me once we had reached what appeared to be a well-stocked armory. He perused a chest full of blue leather, and I realized it was a stock of the base armor for a warden—probably all different sizes. Although I bristled at "wee lad," I did as I was told gladly for once. My own weapon was in need of repairs and could be better in general, so I browsed the rack of weapons, coming to a finely crafted greatsword, the legendary Griffon carved into its hilt.

"This doesn't belong to anyone, does it?" I asked the two after picking it up. It was finely balanced and heavy, but it would be a weapon I would have loved to swing at something big and darkspawn-like.

Hafren eyed my weapon choice and shook her head, "If it's on a rack, it's free to take, in the barracks, it belongs to someone. You're free to take it if you like."

I set it aside for later after Mac tossed a set of armor at my feet, the leather, plating and all. I took a nice, long look at it, completely satisfied. It was a fine set of armor indeed.

"Put it on, Laddy, and we'll give ye the grand tour."


End file.
